Aphrodite's Smile

by Stuart Harrison

  Hassel knew this would happen. On a neighbouring island, Bergen had ordered the captain of the Antounnetta to open fire on the villages. Many people had been killed and wounded.

  But he could not fail to report the incident. It went against everything that he stood for as an officer of the German Army. Such a thing was unthinkable.

  ‘And you, Julia, what am I to do with you?’

  He knew that Bergen would never allow him to take her with him. But how could he leave her here after what had happened? In an agony of indecision he cursed himself for having created this situation. If he had resisted his feelings, if he had only thought of Julia and not himself, none of this would ever have happened. But though he had tried many times to forget her since the first time he had seen her face, she had captivated his dreams. He had allowed himself to believe in a fantasy; that the war had not touched Ithaca, that here things were different and the people did not think of him and his men as invaders, forcibly occupying the island. He had been wrong of course. And he had always known it.

  Hassel bowed his head, resting for a moment against Julia’s knees. He felt her hands lift his face. She spoke softly, though he didn’t understand what she said, and then tears escaped from her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He stood up and, taking her hands, raised her with him. He kissed her cheek. She leaned against him and he held her. His senses were filled with the scent of her skin, the feel of her hair, her breath against his neck. He held her close, so close that he could feel the beat of her heart.

  It was dark when he went down to the basement where the owner of the taverna had been confined. The man was huddled in a corner, and it was immediately apparent that he had been beaten, though not badly. One eye was bruised, and his cheek was grazed, perhaps where he had been thrown to the floor. He looked up fearfully.

  Hassel turned to the soldier beside him. He was very young. Perhaps seventeen, not even shaving yet. ‘What happened to this man?’ he demanded.

  The soldier stammered a reply. ‘He fell, Herr Hauptmann. When we brought him in. It was an accident.’

  ‘Then you will ensure that there are no further “accidents”. Is that understood? We are soldiers of the German Army. We are not members of the SS.’

  ‘Yes, Herr Hauptmann.’’

  He could not really blame them, Hassel thought. This man had got off lightly. He had offered wine to boys in uniform so that they would be slow to react when men came to kill them. Nevertheless, there would be no more beatings.

  A second soldier stood in the passage outside. Another boy wearing an ill-fitting uniform and carrying a rifle almost as big as he was. His name was Schmidt, Hassel recalled. He had learned to speak a little Greek. Better than he had himself. It seemed he had an ear for languages. Hassel ordered him to step forward.

  ‘Tell this man that I want to know the names of the leaders of the group who planned to attack the garrison.’ He fixed the taverna owner with a hard stare which he hoped would add weight to the words which were about to be translated. ‘Tell him that if he does not give me those names then I will have no choice but to hand him over to the SS. Explain to him that he will be tortured. Make this very clear. Explain that he will give the information in the end anyway. Tell him that many people on the island will be killed as a reprisal for what has happened. Make sure that he understands this. Men, women and children.’

  Hassel waited while all of this was relayed. The soldier’s Greek was not perfect and it took some time, but from the increasing fear apparent in the taverna owner’s eyes it was clear that he understood the gist of it.

  ‘Now tell him this,’ Hassel said. ‘If he gives me the names of the leaders and tells me where to find them, I give him my word that there will be no reprisals. Only these men will be taken. Tell him that I understand that what I am asking is a difficult thing, but tell him that it is better that a few men who knew what they were doing are shot, rather than hundreds of the innocent.’ Hassel paused, then added, ‘He has one hour to reach a decision.’

  Hassel spent the hour in his office. He explained to an uncomprehending Julia that this was the only way he could reconcile his duty with his own sense of moral conduct. If he were able to produce the ringleaders of the Resistance, perhaps Bergen would be appeased and there would be no question of reprisals. It was the best that Hassel could do.

  Julia, of course, did not understand what he was saying, but as he stood by the window she came to him and leaned against him, entwining the fingers of her hand in his own.

  When the hour was up, Hassel returned to the basement. The taverna owner gave him one name, but it was a name which Hassel knew would satisfy Standartenführer Bergen. The name was Metkas, and he was hiding in the monastery at Kathara.

  Hassel ordered a squad of men to be assembled immediately. When they arrived at Kathara, soldiers were posted around the perimeter of the monastery before Hassel drove in through the main gates. Metkas was alone except for one young man who had been left to keep look-out for him, but who had fallen asleep. They were both captured without a shot being fired and taken back to Vathy where they were imprisoned with the taverna owner.

  It turned out that this was a mistake. During the night, Metkas beat the man to death with his bare hands.

  The Antounnetta was already anchored in the small harbour at Frikes when Hauptmann Hassel led the small convoy of men and vehicles into the town. He made his report to Standartenführer Bergen in the house which Bergen had temporarily seized while the evacuation took place. When he got to the part Julia Zannas had played in preventing the guerrillas’ plan from succeeding, Hassel took care to emphasise that without her help he would undoubtedly have been killed.

  Bergen regarded him with cold contempt. ‘Perhaps it has not occurred to you, Hauptmann, that without the girl’s part in this it would not have been so easy to ambush you away from your men.’

  ‘Yes, Standartenführer,’ Hassel said obediently while he remained stiffly at attention. ‘However if I may …’

  ‘Silence!’ Bergen rose and came around the table, his thin lips drawn tightly. ‘I do not have time for your pathetic explanations. You may be sure that when we reach Patras, Hauptmann, you will be held accountable for your actions. Where is Metkas now?’

  ‘Under guard in the house next door, Standartenführer.’

  ‘Have him and the other one taken to the ship. And the girl? Presumably you brought her with you?’

  Hassel hesitated, then answered, ‘Yes, Standartenführer.’

  ‘I hope you do not imagine that we will be taking her with us when we leave.’

  ‘With your permission, Standartenführer, I cannot leave her here after what she has done. I respectfully request that she be taken to the mainland.’

  Bergen smiled mirthlessly. ‘Your request is denied. Do you think that I care what happens to your peasant whore? She may consider herself lucky that I do not order her to be shot. As it is, she can take her chances with her own people. I am quite sure they will know what to do with her. Now continue with the evacuation immediately.’

  Hassel knew that he had no choice. To further plead for Julia risked her being shot.

  While arrangements were made to depart, Standartenführer Bergen made arrangements of his own. He emerged from the house and called out to a passing soldier. Schmidt nervously snapped off a raised arm salute as Bergen ordered him to fetch half a dozen men and a truck. When he returned with the men in the back, Bergen climbed into the passenger seat and told him to drive towards the village of Stavros.

  As he followed the road, anxiously keeping an eye out for any sign of an ambush, Schmidt occasionally glanced at the piece of paper Bergen held in his hand. Bergen made no attempt to hide what was written on it because it was in Greek, though it was not Greek as Schmidt had seen it before. Nevertheless, he understood enough to know that it was a verse of some kind. Certain hills were mentioned, as were two seas. There was more, but he could not understand it, and he did not want to make his scrutiny
obvious.

  Eventually, after ordering Schmidt to take several turns and after following a bumpy donkey track past a church on a low hill, Bergen ordered him to stop. He got out and withdrew his pistol.

  ‘Wait here,’ he commanded, and then he vanished on foot around the bend.

  Schmidt and the other men waited for two hours. They were nervous and debating amongst themselves what they should do, when Bergen finally returned. He was dusty and sweating, but he looked strangely pleased with himself. Without a word, he climbed back into the truck and ordered Schmidt to turn around and drive back to Frikes.

  By the time Bergen returned, the light was beginning to fade. Preparations to leave were almost complete. Hassel watched with a heavy heart. He tried to explain to Julia, but she regarded him with uncomprehending eyes and eventually she put her finger against his lips to silence him. Then she came into his arms and for a long time he held her. A few final explosions could be heard from beyond the village where the equipment which could not be taken with them was being destroyed. The flames from burning vehicles could be seen in the sky and the smell of burning fuel and rubber lay heavy in the air.

  At the wharf, Schmidt was waiting with the last boat.

  ‘Tell her this,’ Hassel said. He turned to Julia and held her face in his hands and told her that he loved her. He said that he was sorry for everything, that if he survived the war he would come back to find her. Even as he spoke the words he knew it was a lie, though it was not meant as such.

  Masking his surprise, Schmidt did his best to translate. Like the rest of the men under Hassel’s command, he had great respect for his commanding officer. To Schmidt and many of the other men, Hauptmann Hassel seemed so much older than they were. He had done his best for them, and he had done his best for the people of Ithaca.

  Julia’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Tell her there is a fishing boat and a man who will take her to Kephalonia,’ Hassel continued. He had bribed the man to do this. He was a fisherman from Frikes, a man who was more interested in the money Hassel had given him than anything some village girl he didn’t even know might have done.

  Schmidt repeated this too and Julia nodded her understanding.

  ‘Make her promise she will go,’ Hassel said.

  Again Julia nodded.

  There was nothing more he could say. He held Julia one last time before he climbed into the boat and, as it left the wharf, he stood in the bow watching her grow steadily smaller. She seemed alone and vulnerable. He felt sure that he would never see her again and the pain this caused him was like a dagger through his heart. He prayed with all of his might that no matter what happened to him she would survive. She did not deserve to pay for his mistakes.

  In a few minutes the boat reached the Antounnetta, but, as Hassel climbed aboard, he heard the sound of a shell fired from somewhere on the cliffs above the harbour. He registered the flash and roar of flame as a blast of hot air lifted him from his feet and threw him to the deck, and he knew that they were under attack.

  The Antounnetta limped into a dark and remote bay in the south of Ithaca. There was no moon and the wind whipped the sea into whitecaps. Off the coast, the ship had rolled and listed badly. She was already taking on water, and though the fires had all been put out, the damage was severe. More than three-quarters of the crew and men who had been aboard when the attack began were dead. Of those who were left, many were severely wounded. As well as all of this, an unexploded shell had pierced the upper deck and was lodged in a mass of twisted metal close to the engine room.

  Once in the relative shelter of the bay, Bergen ordered Schmidt and a party of other men to the hold below. Among the pictures and religious paraphernalia which had been removed on Bergen’s orders from the monastery at Kathara, there were several wooden crates which had been nailed shut.

  ‘Take these onto the deck,’ Bergen ordered. ‘And be careful with them!’

  He watched as the crates were lifted and, when a young soldier lost his grip and dropped one of them, Bergen was furious.

  ‘Fool! I told you to be careful.’

  The lid had come off and some of the contents had spilled out. Schmidt helped to put them back, placing them carefully in the straw under Bergen’s supervision. He did not know where they had come from, but there were small jars and bowls made of clay decorated with tiny detailed designs. When the lid had been nailed down again, Bergen turned on the soldier who had dropped the crate.

  ‘If you are so careless again I will have you shot. That goes for all of you.’ He stared at them with a cold, fanatical intensity. ‘Now move!’

  While the crates were taken above, Schmidt and another man were ordered to remain behind. They watched as Bergen examined the statue of the Virgin Mary which had been brought from the monastery. His mouth curled in a disdainful sneer. ‘Leave this worthless rubbish,’ he said and instead directed them towards another smaller statue of an almost naked woman.

  He instructed them to fetch blankets to wrap it in and, when they had done that, they secured it with a canvas cover. As Schmidt tied the cords he noticed the inscription which was carved into the base, and recognised that it was the verse he’d glimpsed written on the piece of paper which he’d seen Bergen with earlier.

  When they were finished, Bergen ordered them to leave the statue and to fetch the two prisoners. The crates and the prisoners were put into a boat and Schmidt and another soldier were ordered to guard them while Bergen turned to Hauptmann Hassel.

  ‘You will wait here until I return,’ he instructed. ‘Have your men work on whatever repairs they can effect while I am gone.’

  Hauptmann Hassel began to protest. The ship was already in danger of sinking. If they were to have any chance of escaping, they must leave immediately. Bergen regarded him with cold fury.

  ‘Must I remind you, Hauptmann, that the responsibility for what has happened rests with you? This island was under your command. Had you dealt with the guerrilla element properly instead of behaving as if you and your men were sent here to enjoy some kind of holiday, we would not be in this position. Trust me, if I did not need you for the moment, I would have you shot. Question my orders again and I will do so myself.’

  To emphasise his threat, Bergen removed his pistol from the holster at his side. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Standartenführer.’

  The prisoners were forced to row the boat to the shore and, once there, they and the two soldiers unloaded the crates while Bergen looked on with his pistol drawn. He directed them to follow a goat track which led up a ravine. The path was steep and it was dark and whenever any of them stumbled, Bergen would threaten them furiously. After they had paused several times to rest, the path levelled and they emerged into woodland. Eventually Bergen stopped. He told them to put down their crates and then he ordered Schmidt and the other soldier to return to the shore and wait.

  Schmidt glanced at the prisoners. The young one looked frightened and he felt a stab of sympathy for him. The older one glared at them with dark, hostile eyes. He did not think he would see either of them again.

  On the Antounnetta, Hassel had organised his remaining men into repair crews, though there was little that they could do. As they worked, Hassel was plagued by a vision of the young prisoner’s face as he had rowed away from the ship. His eyes had been wide with apprehension, his colour pale. Perhaps Bergen was right, Hassel thought. Perhaps all of this was his fault. But if that was so, he could at least stop one more innocent life being wasted. He told his men to wait for his return and then he took one of the remaining lifeboats and went ashore.

  There was only one way up the hillside, through a narrow ravine beside a trickle of water. Before he had gone very far he met Schmidt and the other soldier coming down. He ordered them to take one of the boats and return to the ship and then he continued his climb.

  Schmidt watched him vanish into the darkness and then he told the other man to go ahead without him.

  ‘W
e have our orders,’ the man said. ‘If that bastard Bergen sees you he will shoot you.’ But Schmidt would not be deterred and eventually the other man shrugged. ‘It’s your funeral.’

  When he had gone, Schmidt followed Hassel, though he kept well back so that his presence wouldn’t be detected. He was not sure why he was disobeying his orders. He wished that he was armed, but his rifle was in the boat on the shore.

  When he emerged into the woods at the top of the hill, Hassel saw the glow of lanterns through the trees and approached quietly. It was almost pitch black on the headland except for the pool of yellow light where Bergen was standing guard over Metkas and the young one as they finished digging a large hole. The two prisoners were filthy and streaked with sweat. When Bergen ordered them out, they staggered with fatigue. He gestured towards the crates and they carried them over and lowered them into the hole. When they were finished, Bergen made them begin putting back the dirt they had laboriously removed.

  It didn’t take long. Hassel knew he had only a few more minutes. He approached from behind with his pistol drawn. ‘Please put down your gun, Standartenführer,’ he said.

  Bergen whirled around, his surprise quickly turning to anger. ‘I will have you shot for this,’ he hissed.

  Hassel managed a sardonic smile. Bergen’s constant promises to have him shot had lost some of their impact. The two prisoners had stopped their work, uncertain what was going on. Hassel told Bergen again to put his pistol down.

  What happened next happened very quickly. Metkas suddenly lunged toward Bergen with his shovel raised above his head. He must have believed that this was his one chance to survive and he took it almost without thought. Bergen began to raise his pistol but the shovel fell first and caught him on the shoulder and the pistol fell from his hand. Bergen shrieked with pain as Metkas dived for the gun and Hassel knew that if he reached it, Metkas would not differentiate between one German soldier and another. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before he did the only thing he could. He fired.